It was Friday night, and I was at my friend, Allan's, house. The party was going well, which had been organised for his seventeenth birthday. 

I'm Joanne, also seventeen. 

There were several friends and neighbours dancing and chatting. Everyone was mixing well, and although Allan's parents hadn't bought drinks for us teenagers, they had made a rather fruity, spicy punch, which had a fair kick to it. 

As the evening wore on, around nine, I think, some of our friends decided that, as it was Friday, they wanted to go to town, but Allan and I stayed at the party and chatted, danced, and then decided to put our swimsuits on and have a swim in the garden pool. Although only April, and not the height of summer yet, the pool was heated and warm enough, so we messed around for a bit, and then later on went inside and got hot in the indoor jacuzzi and sauna room. 

At one point, Allan went and chatted with one of his aunts, so I sat in one of the pool recliners with a huge big warm comfy fluffy towel around me. I had another big glass of the punch and it had definitely loosened my tongue. 

As I sat there, Mr Cunningham, a close neighbour, walked past, so I caught his eye and got him to sit beside me. 

Mr Cunningham was sixty-nine, and a retired head teacher from the school I attended. We chatted about what I was doing, which wasn't very much as I had lost interest in school, and done terribly in exam tests. I know I exasperated my mum and dad, who did their best to gee me up and encourage me, but I was all set for leaving in the summer after failing my exams, which I was certain to do. 

Mr Cunningham was a lovely old chap, friendly, kind, generous, and lived just next door but one to us. He had a lovely big old-fashioned house with a beautiful large garden, which he kept immaculately, and also had several apple and pear trees which produced some delicious fruit which he freely gave away. 

However, as the headmaster, before he retired some fourteen years ago, he had a reputation for strict discipline, and there were many stories from ex-pupils of them sobbing as they exited his office clutching very, very, sore strapped or caned bottoms. It was known there were only a few who failed exams during his tenure. Failed class tests resulted in a chat with him and a warning that if improvements were not seen immediately, the belt was next, and if that didn't work, the cane, and finally a bare bottom thrashing. Very few got to that stage, apparently, as his six-of-the-best with his cane on a girl's tightly pulled-up knickers, or a lad's underpants, or twelve on a second visit, almost always sorted out any study issues. 

What I remembered, as Mr Cunningham sat down, was that one of the other neighbours, Jeanette, told me a while ago of her bare bottom meeting with Mr Cunningham when she had attended the school. Babysitting for her one night quite recently, she was rather tipsy and sat with me for a while after returning from a dinner date. She was divorced after her husband had run off with someone else. 

We were discussing my exam, 'issues,' and she told me what I needed was what Mr Cunningham had given her. She detailed how she had not bothered at school, and had been to see the school's assistant headmistress several times and been punished with a leather belt, but she said it was pretty much a joke, as it hardly hurt.  

However, the assistant headmistress eventually gave up on her, and after another appalling exam result, sent her to Mr Cunningham. He straightened her out, she confessed. The visit had been a real eye-opener. He had torn a strip off her, and even before he punished her, she was in tears. Then it was the trip over his desk, she said, that instilled in her a very urgent desire to never return to his office and to make sure she would pass all her exams with flying colours. 

After the rousing scolding, she was told to bend over his desk, raise her skirt, and pull her knickers up as tight as she could. He then pulled a thick leather strap from his top drawer, a two-tailed tawse she later found out it was, and proceeded to lay six very hard strokes with it over her knickers. She detailed that she might as well not have had any knickers on, as they were pulled up so far that most of her bum was already bare anyway.  

She had howled, screamed, kicked, and jumped around, as he thrashed her bottom. By the end of the six strokes, she said her bum was on fire, stinging as if stung by a zillion hornets, and she was crying her eyes out. After that six, he stopped for a moment and allowed her to rub her tortured bum. She described it as if her bum had been ploughed, as the welts the strap created were so prominent.  

However, the next thing was that he told her to take her knickers off. Terrified to argue, she'd removed them immediately, then bent back over his desk, and got another six real corkers on her bare bottom which she said she hadn't thought could be worse than those on her knickers, but were so much more painful. The humiliation of being bare from the waist down, with all her privates on clear display as he thrashed her sore as she kicked and wriggled and screamed, knowing he would see her intimate bare parts, was something that she shuddered at the thought of long after her punishment had ended. 

Thinking it was all over, she lay prostrate on the desk, sobbing but still writhing and kicking furiously, trying to assuage the furnace in her bottom. She watched as he opened his drawer and put the evil strap away. 

Attempting to stand up, she was in for a shock. "Who told you to stand up, Miss Foster? We are far from finished with your bottom yet, my lass. Oh, no, you are going to be one very sorry girl when you leave this office. One extremely sore, sorry lass, I assure you. My cane will ensure you want to study every night for the rest of this term. You will not want to return to my office again for a second dose with it, I assure you. You will want the best marks in your class, instead of my canes very painful marks on your bare bottom." 

Jeanette froze at his words, and tears burst forth in renewed quantity as she watched him pull a long rattan cane from the tall vase behind his desk. 

Not a stroke had touched her bottom yet, but she was pleading, "I promise, Sir, I will do better, and I will improve my studies and behaviour. Please, Sir, your strap has already made my bottom so very, very, sore, and has taught me a lesson. Please, please, please, Sir, not the cane. I promise this will never, ever, happen again, so, please, Sir, not the cane." She then burst out screeching as the first of twelve strokes of agony scorched, seared, and left bright scarlet welts across her whole bare bottom, her sit spot, and thigh tops. 

She heard the crack of the cane loudly in her ear, milliseconds before the awful fire, sting, and hurt, of each stroke had her sobbing like never before in her life. Long before the last stroke tore into her bare, bruised flesh, she had made an unbreakable promise to herself that she would be the best girl in the world, the perfect student.  

Jeanette confirmed to me just then that she was. After her thrashing, she left his study and cried her eyes out for about fifteen minutes in the girl's bathroom. Before going home, Mr Cunningham had given her a note excusing her from classes for the rest of the day, but not before warning her that a repeat visit to his office would go much worse on her bottom. Jeanette said she believed him and kept her promise, and never got another hiding like that again. 

She detailed to me the many agonising welts on her bum and thigh tops, how she couldn't wear any underwear if she could avoid it for three or four days, that her bottom was still sore four days after the thrashing, and that the marks lasted for around two weeks before they disappeared. She also said that Mr Cunningham sought her out a couple of times before her exams, stopped her in the corridor or playground, confessed his pride in how she was now applying herself, and that she was doing a great job. She was delighted he cared. 

It did seem strange how she looked back on the thrashing favourably, but she said emphatically that she had deserved every lick and whack she got, and was very grateful to Mr Cunningham for sorting her out, correcting her bad behaviour, and getting her to pass her exams with top results which allowed her to go on to college and get the qualifications and job she now enjoyed. She also confided in me that there were times she wished he had been available more recently, long after leaving school, to apply his strap and cane to her bare bottom now as she thought it would clear her head and refocus her properly since her husband left. 

Jeanette, Miss Foster back then, Mrs Maguire now, said she knew how I was behaving and thought that if Mr Cunningham was still the headmaster, his strap and cane would do my bare bottom the world of good. Sadly, though, he had retired, and spanking, strapping, and caning were no longer a school option. She also offered her opinion that if I were her daughter, I would feel her strap from her, many many times. 

I looked at her, mouth open like a beached fish, but she stood up, paid me for my babysitting, and said it was bedtime. 

As I walked home, I couldn't help but note how wet my knickers were, and how hot and tingly my pussy was. I was picturing Jeanette bent over the head's desk, her bottom bare, and covered in scarlet raised livid welts. The statement from Jeanette, that if she were my mum I would feel a strap on my bare bottom, sent scary, but exciting, thoughtful, butterflies, racing around in my tummy. I couldn't believe I was thinking it, but I was, and was wishing she would spank then strap my bare bottom. 

Of course, it would never happen and didn't, but that night in bed, before eventually falling asleep, I brought myself to four or five massive orgasms, soaking my pyjama bottoms with my wetness and excitement, just dreaming of how sore and red she might make my bottom, and how pain-filled it would be. 

So, as I sat by the pool wrapped in my fluffy towel, chatting to Mr Cunningham, the alcohol which I was not used to brought out Dutch courage, inquisitiveness, loosened my inhibitions, and fuelled my questioning. "Mr Cunningham, one of the mums I babysit for, told me recently about you strapping and caning her bottom. Actually. her bare bottom. It's not allowed now, but do you think it should be, do you miss it, and do you wish you could still be making a girl's bottom bright red and sore?" 

Mr Cunningham looked thoughtful as he replied, "Well, Joanne, that's quite some question you ask. What brought this on?" 

I was smiling as I replied, "Honestly? The alcohol, but also what she said, made me think. She said you thrashed her hard, and she hurt for days, but she now appreciates greatly that you did discipline her thoroughly, and even wished you still could. She thought it might help her out in her trying times at the moment. She also sincerely told me that if I were her daughter, behaving as I am at the moment, my bare bottom would certainly feel her strap thoroughly, and I have been unable to get her remark out of my head." 

Mr Cunningham still looked thoughtful as he replied, "I see. Well, to answer you, yes, I do very much think caning a bare bottom should still be an option. School discipline and behaviour is appalling now, and yet there is no accountability by students for their actions. Yes, I miss it. The application of discipline, when deserved, was a very important method of correcting behaviour, and, on a personal level, I can't deny the sight of a lass with her knickers around her ankles, her bare bottom already sore, bright red, and getting redder and sorer, was a very exciting sight. Having said that, I always had to be certain in my motives for using the strap or cane, and that their use was proportionate, deserved, and warranted, but, when it was, I cannot deny, that I did get a personal and arousing pleasure in spanking a bottom."  

What a powerful answer, I thought to myself, and as I was thinking that, I knew my pussy was throbbing with excitement as well.

I replied, sounding perhaps too enthusiastic, but I definitely felt that enthusiasm, "Wow, thank you for being so open and honest with me. Have you heard of, or been made aware of, my school results and behaviour?" I asked. 

Looking at me, scrutinising me, and paying me careful attention, he answered, "Yes, Joanne, I met your current teacher, Miss Harris, at a school function, and when I asked about you, she told me about your poor behaviour and bad results. She asked my opinion. I advised her that what was needed was a very firm dose of old-fashioned discipline. In fact, a very thorough, long, hard thrashing. A thrashing that you wouldn't soon forget. You are a clever girl, just obstinate and becoming very unruly and badly behaved. In school, you would have, without doubt, been sent to my office and, looking at you now, yes, I would have enjoyed you leaving sobbing, your bottom very sore, and possibly even hoping your marks wouldn't immediately improve, so I could have the pleasure of strapping your pretty bare bottom again, and for far longer. Trust me, my method never failed in all my years as a teacher or headmaster. Most of the girls who experienced my tawse went on to be well-behaved, studious, and with first-class exam results." After a few moments, he added, "Miss Harris said that it was a pity that type of discipline no longer happened at school." 

Mr Cunningham must have seen me listening so intently, and he continued, "Quite a few of the girls I have met at school reunions have approached me and said that, although at the time they hated me vehemently, however, within a few months they noticed the change in themselves and liked it, said they were really grateful for my discipline, and thanked me. A couple of them have even visited me since and, after receiving a repeat, 'prescription,' left the study as they had several years previously, sobbing, very sore-bottomed girls, clutching at thoroughly strapped, caned, and welted bare bottoms." 

I was silent, deep in thought, thinking through just how a stinging sore bottom would really help me, and wondered if Mr Cunningham was actually suggesting I went and saw him to be thrashed. I didn't ask him and was sorry when he said to me, "It has been lovely sitting and chatting with you, Joanne, but I should take my leave now." 

With that, he stood up and walked off to chat with some of the others. As he stood up, though, I noticed a very prominent bulge in his trousers, so realised that talking about his spankings and memories turned him on. Equally, and it was a surprise to me, I was delighted that I was still in my swimsuit as my sex was sopping wet and the gusset of my swimsuit equally wet. Had I been wearing almost anything else, I'm sure the big wet stain would have been very obvious.  

A few minutes later, Allan returned to the pool and again sat beside me and gave me another full glass of punch. He commented on how flushed my cheeks were, and asked if anything was up. 

My brain was in hyperdrive, and I said, 'Yes,' and asked him whether we could go to his bedroom to chat in private. Allan and I had been friends from kids, and I looked on him as someone I could always confide in with confidence. 

Up in his bedroom, I told him about my chat with Mrs Maguire, about her run-in with Mr Cunningham and the painful outcome, and about his conversation with me and what he thought I needed and deserved. 

Allan just looked at me, thoughtfully, before agreeing with me, and Mr Cunningham. "That is exactly what you need, deserve, and are long overdue, Joanne. I wish he was still the headmaster, as I would be comforting you and your sore bottom frequently. " 

I agreed wholeheartedly, and replied, albeit anxiously as I was very worried how it would end up, "You will probably think me off my head, Allan, but ever since Mrs Maguire put the thought in my head, I've been unable to shake the idea. Now, after tonight's chat with Mr Cunningham, well, erm, I would like to ask him if he would provide me with that guidance. However, I'm scared as I've never been spanked let alone strapped or caned, and I know it would be sore, in fact, very, sore, but I just don't know how sore, and I can't ask him and then find out I've got myself into something I can't take." 

Allan looked at me, eyes wide and bright, his mouth open in amazement, as he said, "You want a strapped bottom? You want to ask him to do that to you? Wow, I didn't see that coming. Well, as Mrs Maguire told you rightly, it hurts, in fact, it hurts like hell, and is still sore for the next day at least, after a proper thrashing. I can assure you, from bitter experience, that your bum throbs and stings like you won't believe. You kick, yell, wriggle, and writhe, and you are crying, even sobbing and pleading for it to end, long before it does. I had a private tutor who used to thrash me as the incentive to work harder.

When she took her strap to my bare bottom, I promised the world to get her to go lighter and to stop, but she carried on until she was absolutely certain that her message and displeasure had been scorched into my bare bum with that leather strap. Before the first stroke of her favoured strap seared my bum, I was already red and sore from a long over her knee bare bottom spanking, and usually already in tears. The first crack of that strap on my bare bottom had me instantly apologising, promising to be good, and feeling very sorry for myself, but no amount of promises, or pleas, would save my bare bum from the leathering she had decided on.

Usually, about twenty-four whacks, but it had also been thirty-six, and I was sore for a week, I can tell you. She even left the strap with me after she stopped tutoring me, as a reminder, and all I have to do is take it out from my cupboard and look at it. So, as my friend, be very careful what you ask for, Joanne. Yes, you do deserve a thorough thrashing, and I'd love to see you get one, but, trust me, your beautiful bottom will be covered in red welts that hurt a lot when you try to sit for such a long time after the hiding is over." 

I sat there quietly for several minutes, listening to Allan describe his punishments from his tutor, and my sex got wetter and wetter. I got more and more turned on picturing him over her knee, her hand spanking and spanking his bare bottom, his tears flowing down his cheeks, and tried to picture how red and sore his bum must have looked. As I imagined him bent over his bed, his bottom bare and bright red from the spanking, waiting for the strapping to start, I thought I was going to cum as I was so turned on. 

I suddenly came to a decision, and asked Allan, in fact, pleaded with him, as I needed to know how it felt to get my bare bottom strapped properly.

"Allan, would you do it for me, now, with your tutor's strap? I need to know what it's like. I need to know if I should ask Mr Cunningham. Please will you, and do it properly, like your tutor did when she strapped your bottom. Very hard and on my bare bottom. We've been friends since forever, and I trust you. You are a big, strong lad, almost certainly stronger than Mr Cunningham is now, and if you strap my bottom, I'll know for sure what I'd be in for." 

Now, what I hadn't realised was that Allan had a big crush on me and had wanted to get into my panties for a long time, but was too gentile and respectful to ask me out. I found out later, when we did start dating, that he had fancied me for quite some time, and that he regularly went to sleep masturbating, picturing me in just my bra and panties, and cumming twice or thrice before he could sleep. When we dated, I even helped him recreate his dreams several times. Me in just my underwear, my bottom red and sore from another thrashing, and his cum spurting over my bra and breasts. 

However, back first to my suggestion to him. It didn't take him long to agree, and I was surprised he agreed so quickly, but later, after he had strapped my bottom, I found out his true feelings towards me and everything clicked into place. 

We discussed how it should go, and he fetched his tutor's strap, hidden away in his cupboard, to let me see it. OMG, I thought, when I saw it. What have I done? Twenty-four inches of thick leather, about an inch and a half wide, and split into two tails, each about ten inches long at the 'Sore,' end. 

We decided I should go over his knee for a hand spanking first, then bend over the end of his bed, his pillows under me and my bare bottom up high. We agreed on six medium hard strokes to start, followed on with immediately six real genuine hard ones. We also agreed, at my suggestion, that it should all be on my bare bottom. That caused a slight issue though, as I only had on my one-piece swimsuit, and, to bare my bottom, well, I would have to take it off, and so I would be naked. 

I think all the alcohol, the adrenalin, and the excitement in my pussy, over-ruled my normal sensibility, and I told him I was fine about it. 

Allan immediately sat down on the edge of his bed and looked up at me, clearly testing me. However, I didn't wait and immediately bent down across his lap. I found the position, with my face inches from the floor and his feet, so exciting, and felt my vulva throbbing. Of course, that was before I felt that first spank, and then spank after spank, and felt the pain intensify. 

As the spanking continued, I told myself I still trusted Allan and had, after all, told him to make sure it hurt. He clearly knew how to give a spanking, presumably as he had been spanked so often himself. 

I forced myself to start to think how this was going to be a lesson about focusing on my school work rather than anything sexual, and, as I thought that, so I could understand how being thrashed, and the threat of being thrashed again, could scare me into working harder. Maybe, even, earning a spanking every time I didn't get a very good mark for every test, and every piece of homework. Yes, scary, but essentially so, and knew that it would work for me just as it had worked for so many others, so was something that I knew I wanted. Yes, wanted, and needed. 

The spanking seemed to go on and on, with Allan spanking my bottom cheeks and the tops of my legs. He was really going for it, but as such a good friend, I knew that he would. It wasn't long before I could see my eyes getting blurred from my growing tears, and then felt them dribble down my face. I had never suffered like this before, but could see how it had to work. Mr Cunningham was definitely right there.  

After what seemed forever, Allan stopped spanking me and ordered, "Right, get up now, so I can strap you really hard." 

I heard the instruction and pushed myself off Allan's lap. Once I stood up, I couldn't stop myself rubbing and clutching my stinging bottom cheeks, and I didn't even care that Allan saw my stretched pussy as I stepped from foot to foot. I just thought about the pain and the incentive it would give me. 

Allan clearly enjoyed looking at my naked body for a short while, and then got the pillows piled them up in the middle of the bed, and ordered, "Get your tummy across them, so your bottom is perched on top." 

As he ordered me about, I knew he was looking specifically at my breasts, but that bothered me far less than the pain I had already suffered, and the even more dreadful pain I was going to get. I could see why Jeanette had pleaded for Mr Cunningham to stop, and the fear she must have felt when he didn't. I didn't fear the pain, just then, and knew I had to experience it for myself. 

Moments later, I was perched on top of the pillows, and like when I was across Allan's lap, my bottom was the highest part of my body. It was crazy, I knew, but I wanted Allan to thrash me as hard as he could with the strap because we were dealing with my future, and trying to make it better for me.  

I yelped when the strap landed that first time, but forced myself to stay in position. It was hard, but I was still perched on top of the pillows as the strap landed the second time. I was starting to be surprised as I stayed there as lash after lash landed, even though I was yelping and struggling with the pain. However, I kept on telling myself that this was my chance to improve, and so it was important and necessary. 

I didn't count the number of lashes that Allan gave me, but what I knew for sure was that he wasn't going easy as I was crying uncontrollably, and still, he landed lash after lash. I didn't try to turn and look at him because I knew I wouldn't see a thing, and just kept thinking how Jeanette must have felt exactly like this, and she ended up with such good exam results which took her to college and the job she wanted. I told myself that surely meant that I needed to do the same. 

When the lashes stopped, I didn't stop crying for ages. I did stand up and once again clutched and rubbed my stinging bottom and stepped from foot to foot, still not caring that Allan was again seeing my stretched pussy lips. In fact, I loved the humiliation of it. 

As I calmed down, I managed to stand still whilst I still rubbed my bottom cheeks, wondering how long they would sting for. I reckoned that my bottom and legs would sting for days, so I was reconciled to that. 

After a while, Allan asked, "So, will you ask Mr Cunningham to deal with you next time?" 

I was still sniffing back tears but was focused enough to say, "I could, but I would feel better if you did it again, maybe every time I got anything but a top grade. That would be a real incentive for me." 

Allan smiled, although I couldn't really see it, and he came across to me, hugged me, and said, "I will do that for you, so long as you accept it will be even harder and longer next time, but you won't hold it against me." 

I could feel the concern in his voice, but was delighted with his answer. "I will never hold it against you as it will be helping me improve, and I would want you to thrash me even harder next time, and every time it was necessary." 

With that, we hugged each other, kissed, and cuddled, I gave Allan a hand job, and he fingered me to a huge orgasm. It sealed our lives together, and we are still together, years later, very much in love, using Allan thrashing me as foreplay to our lovemaking now that I have the job I always wanted to have, thanks to him. 

Quite often, Allan thrashes me two days in a row, as I know he loves to thrash an already thrashed bottom, and I have to admit that even with the horrific pain, I am so turned on afterwards, and the lovemaking is the best ever. Allan clearly thinks the same, given his huge erections which I often suck off only to see them return ever so quickly as he kisses and caresses my breast. 

We couldn't be happier, and neither of us wants to stop thrashing being such a big part of our lives together.